In Which Mona Gets an Apology

August 14, 1179

What she wouldn't have done for one of Anna's books.

Nearly a month in, Mona's "adventure" had not failed to disappoint. Her first few days at sea had been spent hanging over the railings, the remains of her meals exploding from her mouth, and a clear, burning fluid following when the half-digested food stores had been exhausted. The first few nights had been worse; unlike the ocean, a bucket by the bed would fill the whole cramped room with the stench of vomit. At least the cook and her daughter were too polite to complain, even if Mona had caught the girl's nose wrinkling once or twice.

She'd grown used to the ship's motions, but when she wasn't retching, she was working--bringing water to the crew, scrubbing floors, even helping in the kitchens if the cook was desperate enough to enlist a girl who could burn soup. And when, finally, there was no more work to be done, she was bored. The cook and her daughter were nice enough, but they were dull, almost bizarrely contented women who could sit around darning socks for hours. Some of the crew were decent, but the men preferred to devote their breaks to their bunks than to her, despite the occasional lewd offer of a shared time-slot. And of course Zareth spent most of his time in his cabin, alone.

Her whole life, she'd been grossly misled. Every story spoke of adventures, but never did they mention the tedious voyages between points of interest. Perhaps it would have been bearable if she had some stakes in what awaited her at her destination, but she didn't. She didn't care about some stupid Carvalli ship. She didn't know why Devidra would go out of her way to retrieve the one wayward boat and she wasn't even sure she wanted to. It was hardly the exhilarating rush she'd dreamed of all her life. It was just a task.

And now, she had to rethink her entire existence. She could always retrieve her old identity from Anna, but no longer thirsting for journeys and glory didn't mean she'd changed her mind about being queen. She supposed she'd stay in Anna's service for a few more years, wait out the marriage and perhaps a couple of bookish brown-eyed, olive-skinned babies that would solidify her stand-in's status. Then Anna could find a maid worth her salt, and Mona...

Well, that was the tricky part. She supposed she'd go to one of the towns, work in a shop or something; princesses were trained in charm, after all, and was there any better asset to a saleswoman than charm? Or maybe she'd fail at that and have to nanny some merchant's brats or something. She might get married. She didn't want to get married just for the sake of it, but she supposed if her selfish, fickle heart somehow managed to love a man, that was a different story. And she would read, she promised herself. She would read everything she could get her hands on, just so boredom would be a thing of the past, just to fulfill any lingering need for adventure without the hassle of having to go on one herself. Most real adventures couldn't have been as exciting as the ones in the stories anyway.

Someone knocked. The cook or her daughter, most likely. God, she hoped they didn't need her help with supper. "Don't you remember the last time you asked me to cook?"

"I've never asked you to cook." Shit. It was Zareth. A flush of embarrassment washed through Mona's body with the presence of some charismatic icon. "Good to know that I knock like a middle-aged woman, though. Or a thirteen-year-old girl."

Was that a joke? Zareth never joked. "Maesie has a firm knock..."

No doubt some of the other men on board would have guffawed and retorted that there was nothing firm about Maesie. Some of those might have added that it didn't matter, that soft women had their charms as well. But Zareth just opened the door, strode to her bed and looked at her, head slightly to one side, eyes glinting with some strained sympathy she'd never quite seen from anyone else. "You're bored with all this."

"Is it that obvious?" Mona swung her legs over the side of her bed and tried to stand, but the movement had awoken a prickling sensation in her right leg. Should've let it rest atop her left at some point.

"I wouldn't worry. You're not the only one." He extended a hand to help her up. She took it; she didn't think she'd ever held a more calloused hand, but it had its own sort of softness, like a scratchy old blanket nonetheless laced with fond memories. Not that sentimentality had ever trumped novelty in her parents' castle. "And at least I'm used to being bored."

She didn't find that surprising. She got the sense that Zareth was the sort of man who could have been so much more than he was. Boredom was the ailment of that sort. "Is that why you're here talking to me?"

"No."

Mona wobbled as the roughening sea toyed with her weak leg. Her boredom took a backseat to her balance. She wasn't afraid of falling, not really. More afraid that he'd catch her, or that he wouldn't catch her. "Then what do you want?"

"We know the whereabouts of the ship." He let go of her hand. She hadn't even realized he was still holding it. "Just crossed paths with a merchant ship pulling out from a port nearby. They said a Carvalli warship had been abandoned in the harbor they just left. It seems strange enough that it could only be the one we're looking for."

"Because it's not every day that pirates escape from prison in stolen warships."

Zareth nodded. "Figured I'd let you know that this will be over soon. Sorry that your big adventure had to be so anticlimactic."

"Hardly your fault."

"Regardless." There was something about the way he said it that made her think there would be more. But, man of few words that he was, he just turned around and left.

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